


The Corpse Bride

by Dreamkissed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamione Cult War, Challenge Response, Corpse Bride, Discord: Bellamione Cult, F/F, One Shot, Team Chaos, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamkissed/pseuds/Dreamkissed
Summary: Does “till death do you part” apply when neither can die while the other survives?  Can decaying hearts still feel?  Is there happiness within the darkness?  Can you cherish and honor as long as you live when you are no longer alive?





	The Corpse Bride

The Golden Girl, The Unliving Horcrux, The Cursebearer, Hermione Granger. She had been called many things and more, but some were dominating far more frequently. She could recall every moment after the rituals with perfect preternatural clarity. Bellatrix taking her, claiming her, rending both their souls. The dagger soaked in grave dust carving her flesh. The empty grave Bellatrix would never occupy as long as she lived. The necromantic rituals that would make it almost impossible to destroy the vessel of her Horcrux.

Hermione stood nude before the mirror, examining herself. Her vision was still awkward, her left eye grey and frosted over, enchanted like Mad Eye’s fake eye. She found that it was slow on looking down and to the right.

Scars littered her cool pallor-tinted skin, some from hexes and curses, the blackened short slashes from shrugging off the Killing Curse. Her fingers played over the dimples and dark veins on her side, where Nagini attempted to poison her before she jammed a basilisk fang through her skull.

Faint seams and stitches lined her limbs in places where reattachment and a mending spell had to be used. The healing charms and potions had less and less effect on her these last few years.

Her first and largest scaring, her left arm up to the cruel phrase carved by Bellatrix. The curse on the Gaunt family ring, taken from Dumbledore before it could spread too far. Blackened flesh had restored slowly to deathly grey, but it would remain nearly skeletal, particularly around her hand.

Hermione forced herself to breathe in, feeling her heart pounding sluggishly and powerfully. She knew there wasn’t much area for her blood to pump, and most of it was thick with clots. The first time she had a pulmonary embolism she panicked. She quickly realized that they ultimately had little effect on her functioning. She had gotten used to the heart attacks, strokes, and other normally fatal events. Her heart still felt, even if she could only cry in her good eye.

The door opened behind her, a faint strangled inhale before a discrete bubblehead charm was cast. She was finding that fewer and fewer people were willing to spend more time than required with her, only those closest to her willingly sought her out. Outside and around the smell was faint but there, unsettling in its reminder of cursed mortality. Her apartment suite however carried a far stronger scent of earth, death, and decay, a cursed graveyard.

She had become a bit of a recluse, first claiming to spare people reminders of the war and its cost, and the reasons why she looked how she did. Then she wished to avoid questions and curious looks. Lately however, she felt herself being less and less affected by the daily chaos of the living. She preferred the sanctity of the Black Libraries in the former Malfoy Manor and Grimmauld Place. Cataloging and organizing it would be her first big challenge. She had the time.

Narcissa approached, the pure white gown in its wrapping held in her hands. She set it down on the fold out table next to Hermione and began working. The cleaning spells were laced with the appropriate charms for what was to come. It also helped remove any lingering seepage or drips that tended to happen no matter what she did.

The warm bushy curls she once bemoaned, she now longed for. Twisted and tangled, the reds and browns dulled, not yet grey, thankfully not patchy in any visible way. Only Narcissa seemed to be able to tame them into looking like something other than an Azkaban Escapee.

The dress was next. First white lacy and satin lingerie that only served to accentuate and highlight what it should have concealed. The fine silks and satins of the gown were next, a slender mermaid style dress with a flyaway open front princess line fine lace layer leading to a short train.

The corset was next, and Hermione braved herself on the dresser edge as Narcissa began tightening it. Her bad eye caught the brief flare of darkness in Narcissa’s core as she kept tightening until the groan of one of her ribs beneath the boning.

The gloves were next, one a size smaller to fit over her left hand. She was capable of donning them herself, ensuring each button was in place and the lacing was straight. This let Narcissa fuss with the jewelry and the veil. Last came the makeup charms, both witches working on doing what they could with Hermione’s sunken cheeks and deep pale and bruised pallor.

One the shoes were on, and Narcissa had handed her a bundle of flowers, music began from downstairs. Narcissa lead her down the hall. Hermione noted with amusement the choice of flowers, blossoms appropriate for a funeral service were mixed with the traditional flowers.

Narcissa left her at the top of the stairs, the main hall converted for the ceremonies. Hermione whispered a quiet thanks to the blond witch before she discretely made her way to her seat. The music swelled with the first notes of the march and Hermione stepped in time.

Her good eye watered, and the briefest of blushes darkened her cheeks as she came into view of the gathered crowd. Her eyes were not on anything other than the vision of perfection at the end of the velvet carpet.

A healthy pale skin was accentuated by the black attire and bold makeup. The corset wrapped her torso despite the pants and dress jacket she wore. Thick glossy waves cascaded over her shoulders and back, and nearly matching eyes held barely restrained tears, love, and desire for her.

She lost track of how many steps she took, or anything beyond Bellatrix, only stopping when she was within arms reach. She blindly passed the bouquet to Ginny behind her and placed her hands into Bellatrix’s waiting hands. The warmth in them reassuring.

As captivating as Bellatrix’s eyes and soul were, a radiant blackness to her bad eye, she still had enough awareness when the music ceased to hear Dumbledore’s voice.

The cheerful grandfatherly tone filled the hall, no charms were needed to hear him clearly. “Witches and Wizards, we are gathered here today…”


End file.
